Ensanguined Night
by Boxapples
Summary: A former Thieves' Guild member is recruited into the Brotherhood. As Lucius advances in rank, he learns of the secrets shared between the Listener and the late Lucien. Eventually he must make a choice: to steal freedom, or life. DBMxListener.
1. Murderer

**A/N:** Inspired by Zaleone's and ReaperRain's Brotherhood fics. I just wondered what it'd be like to tell the story from the POV of that murderer who looked like Lucien…

**Disclaimer:** Bethesda owns Oblivion. Will there ever be a TES V?

_No shout of any sort will reach  
The merciless gods above the sky.  
Lacrimosa…_  
-Lacrimosa, Kalafina (translated)

**#01: Murderer**

Lucius was running for his dear life.

He could hear the guards hollering behind him, but he didn't stop to look. He didn't want to know just how many soldiers of the Imperial Legion were chasing him. _But it had been an accident! _His helpless mind screamed at him. Lucius knew it wouldn't make a difference. Accident or no, he would still be jailed.

It was nearing 12 midnight. Lucius had waited for this hour – the bridge between the end and beginning of a day – so often that the knowledge was ingrained in his head. If he thought it was 12, it was. Nimbly he drew a summoning scroll and muttered the words written on it. Trust Ontus Vanin to keep such scrolls at hand. Lucius had nicked it just before the guards had come bursting into the room. Using what little misdirection skills he'd learned in his time with the Thieves' Guild, Lucius had snuck past them and fled. Sadly, the guards were efficient.

The summoned daedra lord would keep them busy for a while, though.

Having lost most of them, Lucius ducked under a bush and hauled himself over the wall, to where Armand Christophe waited, torch in hand. He was panting as he approached the man. Armand glared at him. Lucius shrunk away.

"You killed someone on the job, Lucius."

"It was an accident," he found himself blubbering.

Armand raised an eyebrow. He sighed. "I can believe that, Lucius, but… rules are rules. You're out."

"I _what?"_ It took several moments for the truth to sink in. Lucius' jaw dropped. "It was an accident! I swear! Where… where will I go? C'mon, give me a chance. Please?"

The Doyen shook his head firmly, but looked at him with eyes of pity. "Look, pickpocket – I can help you get rid of that bounty on your head. That's all I'll do for you. If you wish to rejoin the guild, pay the blood price for having slain Ontus. If you don't, you'll have to find a way to survive."

The rogue thief just stared at Armand openly. The Doyen wasn't dumb; he bloody well knew that Lucius didn't have the gold to pay the blood price for murder. Finally, as though deciding that arguing wouldn't help, Lucius tightened his grip on his ebony dagger and stalked away.

All his life, he'd lived in the Thieves' Guild. He'd been given to the guild by one of its members, apparently. He never did find out his mother's name, only that she was once a guild member. Or perhaps she still was, and simply didn't want anything to do with him. Lucius had been raised in the ways of a thief. He'd served the Gray Fox ever since he could walk. In turn, the guild had looked after him. They'd given him a home, and money.

And now he was out.

All because of a stupid accident.

Who would've thought that the silver pot he'd accidentally dropped while rushing down the stairs would strike Ontus squarely on the head?

Lucius certainly hadn't. When he'd heard the shout he'd jumped, and the pot had slipped from his hand. It had bounced down several steps and sailed through the air, slapping Ontus hard in the temple. He'd died on the spot from internal bleeding, it seemed. Or maybe the pot had just happened to burst his artery. In any case, the guards were on him in a second. It was only by sheer luck, Lucius felt, that he'd managed to nick the summoning scroll and slip through the soldiers.

But it had all been for naught.

He was homeless now. First he was orphaned, and now he was homeless too? Life sucked, didn't it?

Lucius knew Armand would make good on his promise to pay off his bounty, though. At least he wasn't a marked man. The thief left the waterfront. He walked for hours, carrying his torn shoes in one hand. His fleeing from the guards had all but destroyed the leather. Thorns pricked his feet as he stepped through brambles towards an ancient Ayleid ruin. Spotting an empty, abandoned camp, he miserably tucked himself into the bedroll. His feet throbbed in pain, but in the darkness, Lucius could barely see the extent of the wounds. He knew his feet were blistered, though. They probably had a few thorns stuck in them. But forget that. He'd figure out what to do with his screwed life when dawn broke. No point harping over it while the night was still young. Despite the worrying thoughts that swirled through his mind, it wasn't long before Lucius fell asleep.

He was abruptly awakened.

"You sleep rather soundly for a murderer."

It was a woman's voice. "Wha –?" Lucius mumbled, getting up and rubbing his eyes. He blinked at the sight of a black horse nibbling the grass, and the woman towering over him. Imperials weren't short, but their height was nothing compared to the Altmer. The High Elf before him was clad in all black and hooded. No matter how much he squinted, he couldn't make out her features, only that her voice sounded sickly sweet. Something she said sank in. "Wait. Murderer?"

"The Night Mother has been watching, and she is most pleased," the Altmer continued, unfazed by Lucius' growing panic, "at her request, I have come to extend a most unique invitation to you –"

"Hold your horses, lady. I've no idea who you serve, but I'm no murderer," Lucius muttered, backing away and drawing his sword.

The High Elf remained unperturbed. " – to join our family," she finished. "However, since you are clearly on the verge of rejection, allow me to remind you that you have been kicked out of the only place you've ever called home. The Dark Brotherhood can offer you that, and much more. We offer you a place in our family, and in exchange, you shed blood for our Dread Father."

"I don't care what I'm getting_; I'm no murderer_!" Lucius repeated shakily.

"Fine. You have the potential to be one, then," she lazily replied.

"How can you say that just… like that?" He shook his head, impressed, though he didn't admit it, "taking lives, it's… wrong."

She tilted her head at him. He caught a glimpse of startlingly blue eyes under the hood. "So is stealing. People own what they've earned. You'll just be stealing lives rather than objects now. But the Thieves' Guild has taught you well, I see. Our Listener mentioned that fact. She also mentioned that I should not force you to join us. We are in dire need of members, however, and so I'm afraid I must go against her orders."

Lucius didn't have time to react. In a split second, the Altmer had a blade to his throat, and from the looks of its evil reddish glow, it was enchanted. "The choice is simple," she said calmly. "It is a choice between life" – she extended her free hand towards him – "and death." She nodded at the blade.

The thief gaped at her. He could draw his dagger, but given the speed at which she'd moved earlier he doubted he'd be alive long enough to do that. He thought about Ontus. The man had died – and Lucius hadn't felt any guilt, or sorrow, at his death. Maybe he did have the potential. "Is that what I have to do? Kill? And I'll have a home? Food? Money?"

"More than that," the elf promised, "you will have a family. That I can guarantee."

"A family? With parents?" He questioned in disbelief.

"Foster parents, if you will," she answered, tight-lipped, "there are people in charge of the family. You can trust them – and me – with your life."

There was nothing left for Lucius if he rejected her offer. Maybe, if he pleaded with her enough, she would let him off with his life, but what then? He had nowhere to go. No guildmaster to serve. That this offer had come by… "Are you my salvation or damnation?" He wondered aloud.

"It is your choice." He could hear the smirk in her voice.

"Then I choose life," he said quietly, grabbing the Altmer's hand. He could've sworn she smiled.

"Excellent. We head to Cheydinhal immediately. I am Arquen, the Speaker who oversees the Cheydinhal sanctuary."

She hauled him onto the black stallion before mounting it herself. The thief closed his eyes, drew a deep breath, and opened them. His life as a thief was over. It was over the moment Ontus died and he had no money to pay the blood price.

_I am a murderer. I killed Ontus Vanin. _"Lucius."

Then they rode.


	2. In Your Own Intimate Way

**A/N: **Can't wait to write about his first contract. This is something like a bridge again, I guess. Not sure how I should end the fic, though. You guys want a happy, bittersweet or sad ending?

**Disclaimer:** Oblivion isn't mine. I claim semi-ownership of the Listener's personality though.

_What finds and overcomes love is  
The sky of tragedies,  
The dreaming wilderness._  
-Toki no Mukou, Maboroshi no Sora (Across Time, Sky of Illusions), FictionJunction

**#02: In Your Own Intimate Way**

Adjusting had taken far less time than Lucius had anticipated.

Arquen was nice. The other two murderers were nice. The Dark Guardian freaked him out, but he soon realized it only lashed out at intruders. He and Orane – that black-haired girl who loved smearing kohl around her eyes – sometimes threw apples at the skeleton. It never seemed to care. The Cheydinhal Sanctuary was warm, like home. Lucius couldn't help but feel there was a rather bloodstained past to the stone walls, though. It was a past that he quickly learned from both Orane and the Khajiit, Ahdareeq. Fragments of it, at any rate.

What Lucius gleaned was that the Black Hand's current Listener had apparently left a swathe of dead bodies in the wake of her advancement through the Brotherhood. She was the Silencer who had single-handedly carried out the Cheydinhal Sanctuary's purification to perfection. She was also the Silencer who had, under false orders, single-handedly eliminated half of the Black Hand. She was both the Dark Brotherhood's damnation and salvation. She had driven it to the point of near-collapse, but she was also the reason that the Brotherhood had survived thus far.

The others spoke of the honoured Listener in hushed tones. Lucius wondered how it felt like to be both respected and feared. He was but a naïve murderer, yet to undertake his first contract. Of the many contracts that had passed through the sanctuary, Arquen had taken more than a quarter, deeming them too dangerous for the inexperienced trio. Orane and Ahdareeq had killed before, though, and were eager to do so again. He had no such inclination.

Arquen was often in the sanctuary; she hardly left, possibly because there were only three murderers and no sanctuary master. Apparently, some Argonian named Ocheeva had been mistress of the sanctuary before the purification. The Speaker overseeing the sanctuary had been free to focus on recruitment. He'd heard the rumours that spoke of a glorious Brotherhood before the great betrayal. The High Elf often gave him an inscrutable look; one that seemed caught between confusion and guilt. Lucius didn't know why. He didn't dare ask, either.

Perhaps Lucius was too used to Arquen being the only one in black robes, for it surprised him when he stepped out of the living quarters one fine morning to find her conversing with another black robed person. The Altmer was far taller than her companion, but it was obvious to Lucius that the newcomer was the one who pulled the strings.

Arquen raised her voice. "Listener, I beg your pardon, but this is not the best plan. They need experience."

_Listener?_

"And you have taken over a quarter of their experience for yourself," came the smooth, dulcet reply. "Let them have it. Even the difficult ones. You said so yourself; we need to restore the Black Hand. If we are to do that, they need to prove themselves capable of becoming Speakers and Silencers."

Her tone of finality was unmistakable. Arquen bowed submissively, reluctance showing in her stiff posture. She glanced at Lucius for a moment, and then turned away. The Listener, however, stared at him.

He shivered.

Lucius heard the faint _swish-swish_ of her robes as she came up to him. She was barely his height. He couldn't help but look into her vibrant emerald eyes. _A Breton. _Neither Orane nor Ahdareeq had mentioned that she was a Breton. Weren't Bretons magically-inclined?

It suddenly struck him that he was face-to-face with the Brotherhood's honoured Listener. Immediately he stuttered, "Listener! I am just a lowly murderer, but if there is any way I can serve you, any way at all, please, don't hesitate to tell me!"

Damn. He'd nearly taken Ahdareeq's speech word for word.

She seemed to notice that, and laughed. Lucius was surprised at how innocent her laughter sounded. It was the untainted laughter of a child. In fact, she _looked_ like a child. Her youth showed in both her complexion and physique. Her eyes were bright, dancing with life; yet they were simultaneously dark and cold. "As you were, murderer," she replied kindly. He relaxed, only somewhat. Tales of the Listener's prowess in both the blade and marksmanship hadn't passed him by. So had the stories of her magical affinity. She was a Jack-of-all-trades, and master of all, too. One needed to be exceptionally skilled to rise through the ranks as she had, without the city guards having a single clue to her identity. "Have you done a contract before?"

"A –? Oh. N – no, I haven't." His cheeks coloured ever so slightly.

She nodded. "Don't worry. You'll get one soon." There was something in the way she gazed at him that unnerved him. Lucius had the vague impression that she wasn't quite seeing him for who he was. The way her bright eyes clouded when they held each other's gaze wasn't natural. He kept his thoughts to himself, though, and shifted uncomfortably. Her gaze seemed to pierce right into his soul – and go beyond. He wondered what she saw in him.

"How – how does doing a contract feel?" Lucius suddenly asked. He didn't know why, but an illogical urge to keep talking, keep staying in her presence had flared to life.

She seemed surprised by his question. "Have you not killed before?"

"I have," he said slowly, "but…" _It was an accident._

The Listener's icy – yet warm – gaze wandered to what was behind him. Ocheeva's room. She seemed unfazed by his unfinished sentence; Lucius figured she knew all about Ontus' death from Arquen. _Or someone else. _ "So you're still a virgin," she said, bemused. Before he could think of a reply to that statement, she ploughed on, "it's different for every assassin. For me, it wasn't so much the kill, but the thrill of the hunt. Of course, there's something innately satisfying to slit the throat of another, though."

"Ahdareeq says he hears Sithis speak to him right before a kill," Lucius chose his words carefully.

She raised an eyebrow. "That's not unheard of."

"Honoured L – Listener, if I may ask – who is Sithis, exactly?"

She really wasn't looking at him now. Her eyes had a faraway look in them. "Some say he is our Dread Father. He was said to be like a cloudless midnight. I know him to be extremely cruel… and extremely kind." She stared at him as she said this. He had the sudden feeling that she was saddened by that fact. But as quickly as it had come, it left, and she continued stoically, "He can't be described. As you adjust to the life of an assassin, you will know him in your own intimate way."

"I'm not sure I want to," he confessed without thinking. Then caught himself.

The Listener looked amused. "I have to take my leave," she said quietly, "walk always in the shadow of Sithis, my child."

One of the many variations the Dark Brotherhood used to replace the simple word "farewell". Lucius nervously nodded. "And you."

With another _swish_ of her robes, the Listener left, vanishing through the well ladder. Lucius watched her leave, saying nothing. Why did both Arquen and the Listener behave so oddly around him? They seemed almost at ease with him. _Almost._ And they always gave him _that_ look – it was a look he couldn't express in words. It was a jumbled mix of guilt, a strong emotion he couldn't place, sadness, regret, and joy. It was all the feelings in the emotional spectrum thrown together. And they treated him differently. Almost like an equal. _Almost_ again.

Lucius wondered why.


	3. The Virgin Contract

**A/N:** Thanks for the review! :D I know I've neglected this for a very long time, but I'll try to update frequently as much as possible. Real life has finally gotten out of the way for a while.

**Disclaimer:** Nope, I don't own Oblivion. By the way, Skyrim is amazing. So is the Dark Brotherhood quest line. Yep.

_Sorrow has a human heart,_  
_From my god it will depart._  
-Sleeping Sun, Nightwish

**#03: The Virgin Contract**

Parry. Sidestep. Jab – no, slash? Lucius sighed, hitting the dummy with his steel sword. It dislodged a few strands of hay. He wasn't cut out for this – he could probably rob Arquen blind of even her robes, but fighting? No way. He was a thief, not a fighter. Nor an assassin.

So it surprised him when the Altmer approached. "I have a contract for you," she said, tight-lipped. Lucius turned, his eyes wide. "To the south of Leyawiin lies a Fort. Fort Blueblood. A certain… Nord has taken up residence there. Your job is to kill him. No parameters. Do it however you see fit, as long as the kill is done."

Lucius nodded mutely. She gave him another of those looks – torn between guilt and hope – before leaving the training room. He slowly exhaled. _Shouldn't think too much about that._ He'd endured worse. 'Worse', being when both the Listener and Arquen were looking at him. "Right, Lucius. Time to do this," he told himself. He was a member of the Family now; he might as well get used to… this. He'd grab a bite, say his farewells to Orane and Ahdareeq lest he never return, then leave for the town of Leyawiin.

* * *

Fort Blueblood had obviously been explored at some point. Skeletons littered the ground, and as he approached the innermost chamber, Lucius spotted several rotten corpses. He didn't stop to look. In truth, the stench of death and decay hung heavy in this fort. When he'd first entered, he'd had to fight back the urge to throw up his measly breakfast of apples and bread.

So far he'd encountered no one; the silence was deafening, almost maddening. But then he heard a creak. He froze. Sneaking was one thing he could do, but slitting the throat of someone? Lucius wasn't sure if he could do it. Sucking in his breath, he pushed open the door. Beads of cold sweat rolled off his forehead. His heart pounded in his chest.

The room was covered in mist, but it did not hide the huge shape of the burly Nord pacing about the room. He carried a very wicked battleaxe. Any bit of courage Lucius had now faded; he wanted nothing more than to run screaming from this massive hulk of a man.

But something made him steel himself. Perhaps it was the fact that this was his first contract. Perhaps it was Sithis himself, granting him the strength to make his first intentional kill. Whatever it was, Lucius snuck up behind the man, sent a quick prayer to the Night Mother to save his sorry hide should this fail, and slit the Nord's throat. He collapsed with a gurgle, spraying blood across the wall. Lucius dropped back to a crouch. He hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath. His heart was pounding painfully in his chest, but that fear slowly gave way to pure ecstasy.

_I've… killed someone._

The adrenaline rush slowly ebbed away, and a cold, yet comforting feeling settled in his gut. He felt… alive. Like he had finally grown up; finally come of age. "May you find rest in the Void," Lucius whispered quietly, as he left the fort of death.

* * *

The Black Door no longer spoke, but automatically unlocked at the touch of his hand. It made him feel accepted. Lucius stepped into the Cheydinhal Sanctuary, inhaling the familiar scent of home. Orane approached him, grinning from ear to ear. "You look… rejuvenated, brother."

"I am," Lucius admitted, "I don't know why – I should be horrified, I mean – I've just killed someone –"

"You've sent your first soul to the Void." Orane's grin broadened. "Of course you feel refreshed. You're a child of Sithis now. You're supposed to feed him with souls."

"I… I can keep doing this," Lucius realized aloud. "I can kill any person and… and I wouldn't feel bad about it…"

"Why would you even feel bad? Their soul joins Sithis in the Void. You make your offering to him that way." Orane patted his shoulder. "Congratulations, dear brother. I'm sure Sithis is pleased."

Lucius thanked her, and then walked further into the Sanctuary. His mind was in a whirl. He felt oddly detached from the world above him. He wondered if this was how Sithis spoke to him; how the Dread Father rewarded him. For overcoming his fears, for killing someone – he could feel this cold, comforting peace. Like he'd settled scores with the world, and with life.

It was amazing.

And he caught sight of Arquen, leaning against the wall. He approached her with a confidence he didn't usually have. "I've done it. I've killed him."

"And skillfully, as the Listener tells me," Arquen said, "Your payment." She handed him a small bag of coins. Lucius stared at her.

"How… how does the Listener know?" Surely she wasn't stalking him –

"The Listener knows many things," the Altmer answered curtly, "Or rather, the Night Mother knows many things. The Listener only knows what the Night Mother lets her, and your accomplishment is one of them." She regarded him almost warily now. Gone was the guilt from before. Arquen now seemed guarded around him, as if he was a threat.

Lucius took his leave. Better to let that sulking High Elf take out her inner frustrations on the Dark Guardian, or the cute little rat wandering the Sanctuary. The living quarters were quiet; Orane was training, and Ahdareeq was out for a contract. The Listener was, as she had been for the past few days, nowhere to be found. Not that he missed her silent, comforting presence in the Sanctuary. Of course not.

Now was the best time to catch up on sleep. Lucius hadn't exactly slept after he'd left Fort Blueblood. Nicking a horse from the Leyawiin stables had helped him get back to Cheydinhal in half the time it'd take by foot, but it also meant no rest. Stolen horses had a tendency to run back to their stables once he dismounted, and Lucius wasn't inclined to walk.

He had just sat on his bed, all ready to fall asleep and pat himself on the back for a job well done, when a mellifluous voice said, "So. You are a virgin no more."

Lucius screamed.


	4. The Count and the Steward

**A/N: **Looked over the previous chapter, and made a few minor changes. Thought I should include a bit of a set up for what transpires in this chapter. I promise there will be actual conflict soon! I just love writing about how confused Lucius is about the Listener's opinions of him. And stuff. And I should really start moving the plot, so uh... hope to do that soon. DD: In the meantime, bear with my angst-yet-not-quite-angst.

_I see shadows, everywhere that I go.  
It's you, reminding me,  
Of how we were, of how it was._  
- Shadows, Westlife

**#04: The Count and the Steward**

It wasn't really a scream, Lucius later decided. It was more of a squeak. A very long, high-pitched squeak. Yes. Not a scream. He hadn't just screamed in front of the Listener, had he?

Regardless, the Breton looked more bemused than angry. She was, surprisingly, not wearing her hood. Lucius couldn't help but stare at her strawberry-auburn hair – a very defining feature, no doubt – and then at the icy blue of her eyes. His face flamed red and he murmured, "Y – yes… I guess." Lucius decided not to explain his… squeak. But to be honest, he had heard _nothing_. His first thought upon hearing the voice was that the Nord's ghost had come to haunt him till his last breath. _Not so confident now, are we, Lucius?_

"I have a contract for you."

Lucius' jaw dropped. "For me?" He repeated slowly. She nodded. "Me?"

"I don't expect you to head out immediately, but I'd prefer we set off at dawn," the Breton continued, ignoring the dumbstruck expression on his face.

"H - hold up, Listener. Does… does Arquen know?" Lucius asked uncertainly. "If I had a contract to do, well… wouldn't it come through Arquen?"

The Listener's gaze darkened. Her entire body tensed, and Lucius instantly scrambled for an apology. He opened his mouth, but she swiftly cut him off. "Arquen knows you are receiving a contract from myself. But she knows not the nature of this contract."

Anger radiated from her in waves. Lucius felt like he should apologize, but the words dropped from his lips before he could stop himself. "Listener… why me? Why not Orane, or Ahdareeq? They have… more… experience."

Her gaze softened somewhat. "Dear child, each assassin has their own distinct style. Two assassins can be alike in stealth and silence, but the manner of execution is their signature, and it is never quite the same as another. For this contract, I have need of your style. If the parameters were not as strict, I would certainly pick a more experienced assassin, believe you me."

Lucius didn't believe a word. But he nodded all the same, deciding it was better not to goad the Listener of the Dark Brotherhood into a rage, however unintentional it might be. "I'm listening."

"It is a two-part contract. The stakes, and naturally the rewards, are much higher than what we normally deal with. As such, I will be doing the second kill and timing it with yours. Therefore, _if you botch yours_…" She looked him up and down. He licked his lips nervously. "Let us just say that my _wrath_ will be the least of your problems, dear child."

Lucius shuddered.

"Five days from now, there will be a reception in Castle Skingrad. We will be posing as two mages from the Mages' Guild, here to discuss matters with the Count. The matter of the original mages has already been taken care of. Your target is the Count's steward. His name is… Hal-Liurz. He is to be sent to the Void – as noisily as possible."

"What – as noisily as – but –"

"Killing him noisily does not mean blowing your cover. You were once a thief; I'm sure you have some plans up your sleeve."

"What, like dropping a pot on his head?" Lucius asked bitterly. The Listener glared at him. "P - please, go on."

"After you kill him, meet the chef in the kitchens, Fafnir. He has arranged an escape route for you. Fafnir can be… trusted. He is a brother from another Sanctuary." She paused, pulling on her hood. "As I've said earlier, we set off at dawn."

"Together?" Lucius spluttered.

The Listener nodded. Now that her hood was up, he found he almost missed the sight of her hair. It fell in long, wavy tresses to her shoulders. She looked so… innocent, save for those eyes that spoke of pain he might not ever know, eyes that gazed upon him with such wistfulness. "I will be waiting outside Cheydinhal."

And with that, she disappeared.

* * *

The ride to Skingrad was relatively uneventful. The Listener had acquired a black horse for him. Lucius decided it was better not to know how the horse came to be in her ownership. They rode mostly in awkward silence. But by the time they reached Skingrad's gates, the tension had long dissipated, replaced by a companionable quiet.

It was dark.

"We're here," Lucius murmured, more to himself than anyone. He dismounted. The Listener's expression was inscrutable. She led Shadowmere to the stables, rummaged in her backpack for a moment, and pulled out several pieces of clothing. She handed a blue robe to him, the kind that mages wore. Lucius accepted it, confused.

"If you're going to infiltrate the castle, you'd better look the part," she explained. Before he could say anything else, she slipped behind Shadowmere. He spotted her robes falling to the ground. Fighting the sudden temptation to peek, Lucius turned away and changed into the plain robes he'd been given. As he opened his mouth to inquire on their next step, the Listener stepped into the moonlight. He simply stared.

The moonlight bathed her in an ethereal glow, and it only made the Breton look more… otherworldly. She stood with the refined posture of the elves, and her auburn hair was pulled into a bun. As she noticed him staring, her usually impassive expression gave way to something else. Lucius saw the yearning, the sorrow; the unshed tears glistening in her normally cold eyes. He saw the guilt written all over her sagged shoulders, and he wanted nothing more than to hold her and tell her she was _forgiven_. The Breton seemed to take a step towards him then, but she abruptly stopped. She looked away, pulling a matching hood over her head, gesturing at him to do the same.

He did so reluctantly.

Lucius followed her into Skingrad, where she paid for their rooms at the inn. As he was about to enter his room, she gripped his arm. "We will meet the Count at dawn. Let me do the talking. I will leave with the Count; you will then kill Hal-Liurz as soon as we are out of your sight. Then follow the plan. Don't wait for me. You should be back at the Sanctuary by the time I return." He nodded. She loosened her grip on his arm. "Good. Rest well then, child of Sithis. You'll need it."

* * *

She was gone with the Count, and he was alone in the castle's main hall. With his target.

And still, Lucius couldn't, for the life of him, figure out how he was going to kill this hulking Orc _noisily _without setting the whole guard force after him, or worse. Hal-Liurz went about his usual duties as Lucius sat on the bench, his eyes following the Orc's every movement. Slice the steward's throat? Lucius would be dead before he could reach Fafnir. The Nord was through that door, in the kitchens, the Listener had said.

"By Sithis, I can't do this," Lucius muttered under his breath. She'd said it was a two-part contract, which meant that she was probably waiting for his cue: Hal-Liurz's dying throes and the resulting chaos. Which, if Lucius thought about it, also meant that the success of the contract was dependent on how _noisily_ he managed to kill Hal-Liurz. The responsibility unnerved him. Every second he wasted sitting here, struggling to think of a method, was a gamble on the Listener's identity and possibly her life.

_Don't think. Do something, Lucius! You are a child of Sithis, a brother of the family. You're not a thief anymore. There is no blood price for murder. You're something more. You are a killer. A cold-blooded killer. You killed a Nord three times your size, decked out in steel armor, and he was carrying a goddamn battleaxe. This miserable orc dressed in mere clothes will not stand a chance. _

Yeah, right. Who was he kidding? Once a thief, forever a thief…

_Remember the feeling? _Lucius drew a deep breath, trying to calm himself and his half-crazed thoughts. _Remember the exhilaration as the blood sprayed across the wall… _He rose from the bench, throwing only a cursory glance at the guards, and walked towards Hal-Liurz. _Your escape is secured._

_Don't think._

The Orc turned and graciously asked, "Do you need something, Alain?"

_Do._

He smiled rather pleasantly. "Yes, I do, as a matter of fact…"

_Kill._

His dagger swiftly found the Orc's heart. As he stabbed the Orc again and again, Hal-Liurz roared, swore and whimpered. There was the frightening sound of steel being unsheathed. Lucius roared, expelling the panic that welled up in him, and parried the first blow of the guard's longsword. He twisted away and sprinted towards the kitchens. The guards gave chase. Once upon a time, Lucius knew, he would've been paralyzed by the fear of authority there and then. But now he knew he was above it. He dashed into the kitchens; a Nord looked up lazily at him.

"You've quite the honour, brother," he said as he hurried to a torch stance on the wall and pulled it, ever so calmly. The stones parted to reveal a secret passageway. "The Dark Brotherhood's first major contract, and the Listener chooses a first-time murderer to help her complete it… we had our doubts, but it is clear she chose the right man for the job. Now go. I will take care of the guards."

"T – thank you," Lucius managed. Fafnir grunted, and tugged on the stance again.

Lucius heard the sounds of the guard rushing into the kitchen. Fafnir's muffled voice wafted through the wall. "What? You are sorely mistaken, good sirs… no, no one passed through here… yes, I swear by Julianos, and all the Nine Divines…"

Immense relief washed over him as the kitchen grew quiet. Lucius turned towards the dark, dank tunnel ahead of him, and began walking. He felt exhausted. The tunnel stretched on for a long time, but finally he saw a shaft of light. Kicking open the rusted gate, Lucius crept out of the tunnel into the blinding brightness of day.

A part of him wanted to stay and wait, to see if the Listener had been successful, but he did not. _Tenet three, _he told himself,_ never disobey or refuse to carry out an order from a Dark Brotherhood superior. To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis._ Turning in what he supposed was the direction towards Cheydinhal, he began the long trek home.


	5. Slayer

**A/N:** Thanks for the reviews! :DD You have no idea how much you've encouraged me. I can only hope I don't disappoint. Well anyway, here's the next chapter! Mostly filler, but I promise the story will move, uh, soon. Heh.

**Disclaimer:** Nope, I don't own the Dark Brotherhood.

_What about now?  
What about today?  
What if you're making me all that I was meant to be?  
_- What About Now, Westlife

**#05: Slayer**

The Dark Guardian greeted Lucius with a nod. He smiled nervously at the lumbering skeleton – he'd sooner attempt to steal an Elder Scroll than pick a fight with the armored undead. But of course, as long as he was a happy brother of the Cheydinhal Sanctuary, the great skeleton with the frightening sword would leave him alone. Or so he hoped. One never knew…

"Lucius! You're back!" Orane's cheery voice floated across the sanctuary. Lucius' grin broadened to see the gothic girl approach him. Orane never failed to cheer him up; she was the sole ray of sunshine in the sanctuary. She wrapped her arms around him and punched his shoulder playfully. "I guess it was a success?"

"It was."

She grinned. "Knew you had it in you, regardless of what the Black Hand said."

"What the Blac – never mind. Thanks, Orane." By Sithis, did the Speakers really have so little faith in him? Lucius shook his head and looked around curiously. "Where's Ahdareeq?"

"Ahdareeq congratulates you," the Khajiit suddenly spoke from behind him. Lucius turned, and smiled. He made to hug Ahdareeq, but the Khajiit slunk away. "Excuse me, but Ahdareeq must train." Lucius' smile faded. Orane shifted uncomfortably, watching the Khajiit warily as he left.

"Ahdareeq…?" Lucius asked quietly, turning to face Orane.

"Don't mind him. He's been like that for a while." She averted her gaze. Lucius frowned. "He's just jealous. I mean, many of us would want the honour of performing the Dark Brotherhood's first major contract under the current Listener."

"I didn't know I was going to be chosen," Lucius said slowly. "In fact I didn't –"

She placed a finger, lightly, on his lips. "I know. Ahdareeq knows that too. It's just… he's an ambitious one, you know?" Lucius shook his head. Orane sighed. "Look – if I can offer any advice, just don't let the wet blanket bring you down."

Lucius frowned. "Right." When he'd first entered the sanctuary, Ahdareeq had been the first to greet him with a warm welcome. He and Orane had been instrumental in helping him settle here. They were the reason he even considered the Dark Brotherhood family, and this sanctuary home.

He stared at the Khajiit, who was practicing his moves against the training dummy. Unlike Lucius, Ahdareeq struck the dummy with both precision and finesse. His moves were smooth, fluid, natural. And Lucius? He could barely make a feint without stumbling and hitting his head against the dummy. How had a pathetic thief like him been chosen for a contract by the Listener of the Dark Brotherhood? He shook his head again; melancholy was an easy trap for him to fall into.

He decided he'd sleep it all off. Hopefully the new day would bring with it a better state of mind.

* * *

The Listener returned a few days later. All she said to Lucius was, "well done," before unceremoniously dragging Arquen into her chambers. The door shut with a soft click. Orane and Lucius exchanged glances. They stood awkwardly beside each other, staring at the wooden door, until Orane started grinning. Lucius arched an eyebrow.

"Say, Luc, I'm thinking… let's find out what they're saying in there."

His other brow shot up. "Very funny. It's not like we have nothing to do. Let's go train, Orane." He tugged at her arm.

"I'm serious." Orane's smile broadened. She refused to budge, even when Lucius started poking her in an attempt to make her move. "C'mon. You've finished a major contract; neither Arquen nor the Listener is going to kill you for eavesdropping_._"

Lucius thought about the Listener's ability to scare the living daylights out of him, and said, "she actually migh –"

Orane placed a hand on the small of his back and shoved him towards the door. He stumbled with a yelp; his hands flew up and scrabbled at the walls. Somehow Lucius managed to refrain from opening the door. He glared at Orane, who smugly knelt beside him and pressed her ear to the door.

"I don't like the way you're going about doing things with him," Arquen's haughty, accusatory tone wafted through the thick wood. "You're letting your emotions get in the way of fairness."

"You're saying I favour him," the Listener sounded almost disinterested.

"Yes. Yes, that's what I'm saying."

Silence.

"Look." Arquen's voice dropped to a whisper. "He's not Lucien, my Listener."

More silence. Then, a very quiet, "I know."

"No, you don't. Lucien is _dead_."

The loud 'thump' of a body hitting the wall sent both Orane and Lucius scrambling back from the door. They exchanged a worried glance at the raised voices within the room, and then Lucius pressed his ear – hesitantly – against the wood once more.

"… By _your hands_, Arquen, and despite what you may think, you are _not_ forgiven, _Speaker_." Lucius could almost feel the fury; her voice was saturated with it. "And do not speak of… of him so flippantly. _You _caused this_. _And I swear by Sithis, you will pay dearly for it, _sister_. You will do well to remember that."

A long pause. Then, "_Lucius_ has performed the contract well. He is deserving of a promotion."

The silence screamed what neither Speaker nor Listener would say. Then the sound of footsteps filled Lucius' ears. "Get back," Orane hissed, grabbing him by the cuff of his armor. He squeaked as she practically dragged him to his feet and shoved him up the stairs. The door flew open behind him. Lucius stumbled into a chair; Orane reached past him, grabbing a book and tossing it into his hands. Then she sat opposite him, a book open on her lap. Lucius glanced at the book she'd handed him. _The Lusty Argonian Maid, Vol.1_.

Nice.

Arquen came into view. She stared at the two of them, and finally said, "Lucius. The Listener has deemed it fit to… promote you to Slayer. Well done." She sounded very displeased.

Orane got up and punched his shoulder. "Good job, Luc!"

It was rather difficult to act both surprised and gratified, but Lucius felt he managed pretty well given the circumstances. As Arquen stalked off and Orane left to relay the news to the rest of the family, Lucius rubbed his face wearily. He knew he should be happy, but all he could feel was dismay. And, if he dared to admit it, fear. The ex-thief shook his head.

_What's done is done. I'm a Slayer now. _

He heard a noise; like the sound of fur scraping across stone. Lucius rose and turned, glimpsing the furry tail of Ahdareeq as he scampered back into the training room. "Ahdareeq!" he exclaimed, but the Khajiit did not respond.

Lucius sank back dejectedly onto the chair.


	6. The Traitor's Diary

**A/N:** Thanks for the review! :DD Here we go; moving the plot at last.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Oblivion, and I wish I'd come up with the concept of the Black Hand for the Dark Brotherhood.

_In the midst of conflict and pretense,  
If my heart is drained dry -  
Like the flower on the raging waves,  
Lead the way, overcome the storm.  
_- Resuscitated Hope, Lisa Komine__

**#06: The Traitor's Diary**

He didn't like to admit it, but murder was now becoming a part of him.

It seeped into his innate nature as the completed contracts under his belt grew. And while a significant part of his mind did not seem to care that he was turning into a murderous psychopath, he still felt like he'd disappointed himself somehow. Somewhere along the way, Lucius liked to think, he'd veered off the beaten track and was now fumbling his way through the dark, thick forest. Maybe one day he'd step back onto the right path in life – _his_ path – and make amends, but for now, life among Tamriel's elite assassins was all right.

"Back for more? You're turning into quite the killer, aren't you?" Arquen remarked dryly as Lucius approached her for the umpteenth time, bored of stalking the cute little rat Schemer around the sanctuary. He merely shrugged. He was getting much better at ignoring the High Elf's spiteful tone these days. Or maybe he was just tired of the nervousness that stabbed his gut and twisted his innards around each time the Altmer cast him down. Some days he wished the Listener had just stabbed the haughty little elf between the eyes when they'd had their quarrel. Other days he felt like he could almost understand the elf's bitterness. Today, he felt only indifference. "As it happens, I do have a contract for you," Arquen continued, blissfully oblivious to his rather sadistic thoughts, "Our contact wants a certain Imperial dead. His name is… Claudius Arcadia. He was once jailed for performing the Black Sacrament himself, but has since escaped. There is a slight hiccup, however…"

Lucius arched an eyebrow.

"That is all we know," Arquen finished. "We do not know where he is, or what he is doing. And that will be part of your job as well. To track him down using whatever means necessary, and then kill him."

"You could at least give me a city to work with," Lucius prodded. This contract would be harder than all the others he'd ever done.

"Claudius languished a good many years in the Imperial Prison before he escaped," Arquen replied curtly. "The Listener has provided the key to his house" – a gloved hand reached into her robes and pulled out the rusty key – "which is in the Talos Plaza District. You may want to start there."

And start there he did.

* * *

Breaking into Claudius' house was simple. It was in his element. Cobwebs filled the place, and whatever food had been in here was now rotten. The stale air carried a faint stench of decomposition. Despite the house's shabby interior, Lucius stayed cautious, lest any crazy man had made his home here. Spotting a few gold coins sitting on the table, Lucius deftly pocketed them. The more the merrier!

He crept deeper into the house, brushing aside the thick cobwebs. Lucius entered the basement, where a strong stench of rot assailed his nostrils. Feeling a sudden wave of nausea, Lucius stumbled. His hand flew out and grabbed a barrel to steady himself. Something hard and blunt stabbed into his side, and he winced. The stench seemed heaviest here… it took him a while to realize he was face to face with some sort of squishy blob. And then he scrambled back.

The candles had long been extinguished, but he could make out the bloody effigy that the Black Sacrament was known for. Though he'd read about it, Lucius had never quite imagined it'd be that unnerving when seen. No wonder the late Adamus Phillida had been so determined to have the Dark Brotherhood stamped out. A ritual that grisly would have offended any man who had right standing with the Nine Divines. Not him, though. He wasn't offended. Merely… surprised. He fingered the bruise at his side; it was probably one of the candle stands that had bullied him so.

Lucius stared at the ritual space for another moment or two. Then he decided there was nothing in Claudius' house that would tell him where the mark had gone – clearly, the Imperial hadn't returned here at all.

Lucius welcomed the breath of fresh air as he exited Claudius' house. He walked aimlessly around the Talos Plaza District for a while. Worry was starting to gnaw at him; he'd never had problems with tracking down his prey. Then and again, Arquen usually knew where the targets were. He'd have to check the different districts and start asking folks.

_Oh, joy… I'll have to do all that here, in the Imperial City, home to the Thieves' Guild._

Lucius passed a beggar. He was halfway to the district doors when his genius brain came up with an idea. _Of course! _The beggars knew everything; they were the eyes and ears of the Gray Fox. If there was anyone who could tell him whether Claudius was here, it was they.

* * *

"Claudius Arcadia?" No-Coins Draninus repeated. He scratched his head. Lucius nodded. "Ah, the prisoner who escaped… sadly, no. I doubt he is here in the Imperial City."

"Oh."

"But of course, for another septim" – Lucius hurriedly dropped three coins onto the beggar's outstretched palm for good measure – "Claudius did not escape alone. He was aided." The beggar paused. "Aided, of course, by the Gray Fox."

"The Gray – oh. Oh." Lucius frowned. "Did he pass the test?"

The Imperial chuckled. "That you even know of the test… are you a follower of the Gray Fox, too? But no…" He frowned. "I would know if you were."

"The test?" Lucius prodded impatiently.

"Ah, yes. I'm sure Armand Christophe would know. Why don't you seek him out? A man as resourceful as you should know where he is."

"Yes. I know," Lucius muttered, "and I wish I didn't." The Thieves' Guild was the last guild he wanted to deal with. And Armand was the last Doyen he wanted to find. By Sithis, couldn't Arquen have given him an easier contract?

* * *

"Well, well. Look who's here." Lucius gave Methredhel one of his death looks – courtesy of Arquen – and she wisely backed out of his way. He stopped and stared at Armand. "Here to pay the blood price?" Lucius glared at him. Armand shrugged. "If not, then we have no business here."

"We do, Doyen," Lucius said. Armand arched an eyebrow. "I seek information. That's all."

"Information is business. Business is golden."

Lucius produced several coins. Armand accepted them, and gestured at him to continue. "I'm looking for an Imperial. Claudius Arcadia. He recently escaped from the Imperial Prison… with the help of the Gray Fox, I hear. Is he under your protection?"

The Doyen frowned. "Lucius. What have you gotten yourself into?"

"Are you going to hold up your end of the bargain or not?"

"This the way you treat the man who's raised you from a helpless babe swaddled in cloth?"

"Is kicking me out for an accidental death the way a father treats his foster son?"

"You broke the rules. You know it," Armand stated.

"Doesn't make the expulsion any nicer," Lucius muttered, "So. Back to business."

The Doyen sighed. "Claudius failed the entry test. He's not a follower of the Gray Fox."

"Where is he?"

If it were possible, Armand's frown deepened. His tone went soft; it was the tone he'd often used with Lucius when he was a child, and had done something wrong. "Lucius, if you're dealing with the Dark Brotherhood –"

"I needed to survive. And they've been a better family than you've ever been," Lucius cut in. He could barely resist the urge to stab the Redguard.

"I might remind you that you _grew up_ in the Thieves' Guild and we were _family_ for a good three-quarters of your life. And you judge the Dark Brotherhood based on your first few… well, how long have you been a murderer?"

"_Assassin_. There's a difference. And the time I've spent there doesn't matter. Tell me where he is."

"No." Lucius gawped at him. Armand shook his head. "I won't help a murderer. Or the Dark Brotherhood."

"You won't help your foster son?"

"I didn't raise a murderer."

Lucius opened his mouth, and then closed it. His hand twitched involuntarily towards his dagger. Armand gave him one of his _you-should-think-about-what-you've-done _looks. Lucius scowled. "Then I'll find Claudius on my own. I'm not a kid anymore. I don't need your help. Or your _advice_."

He pivoted on his heel and melted into the shadows, never looking back.

* * *

It was no walk in the park, but Lucius' thieving skills helped him trace the path that Claudius Arcadia took after he failed to join the Thieves' Guild. He bribed Simplicia for the last known contact of Claudius, pickpocketed said contact and searched his home (conveniently stealing any valuables) for information.

Several unsuspecting people, a couple of revealing letters and a whole bag of stolen goods later, Lucius determined Claudius' final destination: an abandoned farm named Applewatch. The Imperial had mentioned in one of his letters that Perennia Draconis, its last formal inhabitant, was said to haunt the farm. Most folks gave the farm a wide berth. He'd be safe from the Imperial Legion there, at least until he could start a new life elsewhere.

But Lucius knew that chance would not come.

The lock on Applewatch was extremely easy for the ex-thief to pick. Lucius slipped into its dark interior. The cottage was oddly well kept for one that was supposedly abandoned. There were no cobwebs; the bed had been made; hell, there was even _fresh food_ on the table – and he noted a faded bloodstain in the center of the house. Lucius quietly crept to the corner furthest from the door, and let the shadows hug him.

Then he waited.

* * *

The faint creaking of the door announced Claudius' arrival. Lucius' legs were cramping, but the training his previous contracts had provided kept him still. He watched as the old Imperial crept in, glancing around the cottage. Lucius scowled. His exchange with Armand had left him considerably more irritable than he normally was. _Hurry it up, old man. _Finally deciding it was safe, Claudius closed the door.

Lucius could wait no longer.

He lunged. To his credit, Claudius had quick reflexes despite his age. He managed to turn and draw his shortsword in time to parry the assassin's deathblow. Lucius scrambled back, cursing his impatience. _Idiotidiotidiot couldn't you have waited just a bit more? _Claudius advanced with a snarl. Lucius backed up against the wall, realizing most of his contracts had been a swift, silent kill. He didn't exactly have combat experience.

The Imperial attacked; Lucius instinctively ducked to the side, a little too late. He winced at the laceration on his left arm. Claudius struck again. Lucius hurriedly sidestepped. The sword hit a torch stance on the wall. It moved, and with a low rumble, a section of the cottage's walls began to slide down. The Imperial paused, head turning to look at the secret room.

Seizing the moment, Lucius scrambled to his feet and drew the dagger across his throat. Claudius dropped with a gurgle. The ex-thief sat beside the dead body, panting hard. Then he ripped a piece of cloth off Claudius' garments, using it as a makeshift bandage for his bleeding arm. As his racing heartbeat slowed, he turned his gaze to the room that Claudius had accidentally discovered.

Slowly, cautiously, he entered. It was very small; in fact it couldn't even be considered a room. The only thing it held was a table that filled its width. The 'room' seemed to have been constructed solely for that piece of furniture. Lucius approached it curiously – why would anyone hide a desk behind a fake wall?

On the table lay a tattered book. Beside it was a pile of neatly stacked letters. That was all the table held. Lucius checked for hidden compartments, but found none. He reached for the letters first, and opened one.

_Silencer,  
You are now reading your first dead drop note, here on Hero Hill, which proves to me you were well-appointed to the tasks that lie ahead._

"Orders?" Lucius murmured to himself. A brief scan of the other letters showed that they were all dead drop orders. He frowned. Then he grabbed the book.

… _I hate it! All this lying, all this pretending! Sithis and the Five Tenets be damned!_

He closed the book.

"Dead drop orders and a journal..." It didn't make sense. The journal appeared to have been written quite some time ago by a member of the Dark Brotherhood, but Lucius could not recall Arquen ever mentioning that there was a rank called Silencer. He'd have to ask Arquen… no. He would take it directly to the Listener. The journal had mentioned Lucien Lachance. It was a name he found vaguely familiar. He glanced at the dead drop orders. They were secondary to the information in the journal. He could leave the letters there, but the journal he'd take, for it warranted closer study.

Stuffing the worn book into his bag, Lucius fiddled with the stance until he heard a click, and the false wall emerged. He then dragged Claudius' body to the forest and propped it up behind a tree. Closing the door to Applewatch, Lucius then made his way back, the strange journal resting in his bag.


	7. Family

**A/N:** _Snowdragon55_ - Thanks for the multiple reviews! :D And yes, I was going to address the issue of Lucius' guilt in this chapter. I hope it's believable! As for the ranks, it's because the contract he pulled off was considered a major contract. Then and again, Arquen does accuse the Listener of favouring him..._  
_

_Baptized with a perfect name:  
The darling one by heart,  
Alone without himself.  
_- Amaranth, Nightwish

**#07: Family**

As the Black Door swung open silently, Lucius was surprised to see two unfamiliar faces standing in the middle of the sanctuary. He would have drawn his dagger, if not for the fact that the two Argonians donned the armor of the Dark Brotherhood. They turned, curious, as he approached. He was surprised to see the almost identical faces of the pair. "You're twins," he said slowly.

The male gave a toothy smile. "Hello…"

"Just in time, Luc!" Orane yelled cheerily. Lucius smiled, and then inclined his head quizzically at the two. "Oh, they're our newest additions to the family. The male's Nine-Toes, and his sister is Breech-Star."

"I'm Lucius," he said with a grin, "Welcome to the family. You'll love it here."

"Thank you." It was Breech-Star who answered. "We are Shadowscales. It is good to be in a place where we are appreciated."

Orane said, "Well, I'll show you two around. Trust you can take care of yourself, Luc?"

Lucius nodded. He didn't see Arquen anywhere, and something told him that the Listener was not here. The matter of the journal would have to wait. As he made his way to the training chambers, he heard the sound of steel hitting straw. His breath caught in his throat. Of course, it was Ahdareeq… Lucius stood, watching the Khajiit train. His moves were graceful as ever, and he didn't hit lightly either – the dummy bounced and shuddered under his relentless strikes.

Feint. Parry. Stab. Sidestep. Slice. Parry. Backstep. Stop.

Ahdareeq sheathed his dagger, satisfied. He turned, and froze at the sight of Lucius. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Ahdareeq," Lucius greeted. The Khajiit inclined his head towards him. "That was… amazing."

"Clearly not as amazing as your feats, _Slayer_," Ahdareeq answered icily, "Now please, leave me be."

Lucius did not move as the Khajiit walked past him.

* * *

"L – let me get this straight. A _mage_? You want me to kill a _mage_?" Lucius repeated, thunderstruck.

Arquen nodded. Only this woman could make such a simple action so condescending. Lucius fought the urge to stab the smug look off her face. "Yes."

"And he lives in an _Ayleid ruin_?"

She rolled her eyes. "Lucius, it is not an impossible contract."

"I've never fought a mage. Never had to."

"Always a first for everything, then. Stop being a wimp and get to business."

Lucius glared at Arquen as she walked off. She was right, though. He wasn't a lowly murderer anymore. He'd been part of the family for almost a year now. It was time he started growing nerves as strong as Arquen's. And a skin as thick as hers, for that matter. It'd serve him well, no doubt. Lucius packed his items. He hesitated when his fingers brushed against the worn journal at the bottom of his bag. He pulled it out. The Listener hadn't dropped by the sanctuary at all in the last few days, and he'd had no chance to ask her about it.

Then there was the matter of… he sighed, shoulders sagging a little. As badass as it had made him feel then, Lucius couldn't help but flinch at the shame that had gradually wormed its way through his gut. What did Armand think of him now? He'd been acting like a troublesome, idiotic adolescent throughout their conversation. In truth, Lucius knew it'd been his fault – and his alone – that had gotten him expelled from the Thieves' Guild. He also respected Armand for firmly refusing to help him do the… unthinkable.

But did he regret joining the Dark Brotherhood? Had it been a mistake, one that he should be reflecting upon?

He thought about Arquen and Ahdareeq. Then quickly decided to think instead about the kind-hearted Orane and the quiet Listener. And his mind drifted to the contracts he'd done, the people he'd killed. People whose only sin had been the contract placed on their heads. The sight and smell of fresh, dark red blood lingered in his memory, and his stomach lurched. And yet… he also remembered the exhilaration, the thrill of carefully planning his murders. Oh, and the subsequent fleeing from the guards when it happened – how nostalgic.

No, no. He did not regret it. The Dark Brotherhood had made him stronger in body and spirit. For better or for worse was a question he refused to dwell upon.

"Something on your mind, Luc?"

Lucius yelped, shoving the book back into his bag. He spun round nervously. "O – Orane…"

The black-haired girl sat beside him. "You can talk to me, you know." He looked at her kohl-smeared eyes and couldn't help smiling a little. Orane was so… different. So cheerful. So secure. How could a taker of lives be so happy?

"Can I ask you something?" She nodded, inspecting her fingernails. He noticed they were black. "What did you do before joining the Dark Brotherhood?"

Orane lowered her fingers and stared at him curiously. "Why the sudden interest, Luc?"

"I just…" He sighed.

Her eyes lit with understanding. "Old demons haunting you, eh?"

"You _could_ say that."

"Well, me, I'm a live-for-the-now person," Orane said, flopping onto Lucius' bed, "But since you want to know, I'll tell you the short version. I was a freelance thief, met a group of like-minded fellows and started a bandit clan. But money-minded people don't make for trustworthy people. We disbanded after I managed to kill the dissidents' leader – who, as it happens, was my best friend. Arquen visited me soon after."

"Do you ever feel guilty?"

Orane laughed. "Guilty for what?"

"They were a kind of family, weren't they?" Lucius ventured.

The smile died on the girl's lips. "Yes, they were," she said softly, "And there's not a day I don't regret killing my best friend. But, you know" – she looked up at the ceiling; Lucius followed her gaze, but saw only stone – "the Listener once told me this: everything that happens, happens because of the Dread Father's will. You can feel guilty all you want for what you've done, but it won't change your fate. Those who are marked by Sithis will find their way here, to the family that serves him, because that's where they're meant to be."

"What if the guilt kills them?"

"Does your guilt haunt you so?" Orane looked at him quizzically.

He sighed. "I came from the Thieves' Guild. I lived there. Grew up there. Arma – one of its Doyen raised me. And all my life I'm taught that murder is unacceptable on the job." He paused, and realized there was something really comforting about speaking to the ceiling. "I met him the other day. The Doyen whom I'd called 'papa' for a good part of my life. He was…"

_Disappointed._

The word caught in his throat. He swallowed hard.

"I just… he's my father, for all it's worth," Lucius muttered, "And I was being the worst asshole in Tamriel to him."

Orane seemed to understand. She swung back into a sitting position, and nudged him with her shoulder. "What do you want to do then, Luc?"

"What I – _what? _What does that have to do with anything?" That earned him a smack on the shoulder. He winced.

"Just answer."

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe turn back time and not be such a dick?"

"Very funny." Orane rolled her eyes. Lucius remained silent. She sighed. "Time is like the rapids of a river, Luc. We ride on the ever-flowing currents of Time, but every one of our rafts will eventually capsize. Others may go elsewhere, but for us, we belong to the Void."

"Where are you going with this?"

Orane laughed. "It's a philosophy of life, Luc, that many people know but do not live out. See, Time flows forever onward, and we with it until we die. But our hearts – they may stay, trapped in the past, consumed by jealousy, or hatred, or rage. And that ends them, for what is man, or mer, or beast, without their heart?" She rose, and patted Lucius' shoulder. "Something to think about, Luc, while you do your next contract. May you walk always in the shadow of Sithis, dear brother."

She left, and Lucius bowed his head.


	8. The Wrath of Sithis

**A/N:** Thanks for the review! I'll be honest, and say that I've long lost the original plan for this fanfic; it was one of many documents that couldn't be retrieved when my desktop crashed some time ago. I plotted a new path out for it, but I'll have to change the summary soon. The gist remains the same though. And special thanks to Crimson Foxhound for helping me proofread the draft. You'll be doing that a lot now!

**Disclaimer:** I forgot to put one in the previous chapter. One day I will update it with the disclaimer, because I'm nitpicky that way. So for the seventh time, Oblivion does not belong to me.

_You are lost in nightmare,__  
__Deep in blue illusion.__  
__One more kiss to wake you up,__  
__Come be mine, you are mine.__  
_- Liminality, FictionJunction

**#08: The Wrath of Sithis**

The massive scythes swung from left to right, right to left.

Lucius stared at them, and swallowed. Hard. In the first ten minutes of entering Rielle, he had successfully triggered three traps. He'd also very nearly been stabbed in the face by a protruding spike. He wasn't sure how much more he could handle. The mage he was supposed to kill – a Dunmer by the name of Varon – had probably run off by now, given the ruckus he'd made.

_Well, congratulations on surviving thus far, Lucius._

Not for long, if the scythes filling the corridor had anything to say about it. Lucius narrowed his eyes until all he saw were the three scythes, swinging from side to side, one after another. He studied their motion and momentum, and slowly edged closer to the first. He flinched as the blade sliced smoothly through air, producing a high-pitched keen. Dear Sithis, he did not want to be chopped to death. Focusing his attention on the scythes, he hesitantly placed one foot forward, drew a deep breath, and darted past the first scythe as it swung into a slit in the wall. The blade just barely cleaved the bow and quiver he had strapped to his back. A little gift from Orane, at his request. For some reason, Lucius had felt painfully under-prepared with just his dagger, and so he'd sought an alternative weapon. Now he stood, his back utterly rigid, as the two scythes glided past him. Another sharp intake of breath, and he quickly stepped past the second. Last one. The scythe glided to his left; Lucius darted to his right and stumbled round the corner to face a flight of stairs. He climbed them with wobbly legs. Gingerly, he opened the door at the top.

He was inside an empty room now. Its entire center was an elevated platform. There was no exit, save for a gate at the opposite end. He noticed a small box high up on the left wall – it looked like a switch. Undead littered the room's corners, and patches of dried blood marred the stone floor. Silently cursing Arquen for having given him this harrowing contract, Lucius slowly looked up. The extremely high ceiling wasn't just a ceiling. The ceiling was a bed of spikes.

It didn't take a genius to figure out what would happen once he stepped onto the platform.

But it was the only way forward. Lucius muttered another prayer to Sithis – he'd been doing that a lot lately – and stepped onto the platform. Almost instantly, he heard the unmistakable sound of grinding stone. He looked up to see the spikes descending much faster than he'd expected – or was he rising to meet the spikes? Lucius froze. Panic bubbled within him. The spikes came closer. He could see several twisted corpses, so violently impaled that they remained stuck even when the platform lowered.

It would be his fate.

_I am so sorry, my Listener, Orane, _Armand_… I haven't…_

Only if he did not move.

Lucius turned and sprinted for the switch near the wall. The platform _was_ rising, and it was almost at the switch's level. He reached it just as the stone rose above the box. His fingers scrabbled at the switch, failing to press it. He glanced up; the spikes weren't so far away now. He couldn't stand or he'd be impaled. He lay flat on the rising platform, arms hanging over the edge, desperately trying to reach the switch without falling to his death – or a few broken bones.

"Come on!" Lucius grunted, reaching for the faint blue glow of the Ayleid switch. His fingers brushed across it, and he stretched further, moving as much of his torso as he could. He could feel the first prick of the spikes along his back. He kept edging forward, until something caught on the spikes, and he stopped. It was the bow, of course - one of the spikes was now wedged between the drawstring and the bow's limb. Lucius cursed. The pressure slowly, but surely, increased, until he was pressed against the stone, hardly able to breathe.

_A little more… just… _with a yell, he thrust himself forward, one hand gripping the edge of the platform. He heard the sound of his armor being ripped, and the rough noise his bow made as it was stretched. Pain flared along his back as his outstretched fist punched the switch. It clicked, and the platform stopped for a heartbeat. Then it gave a great shudder, and began to lower.

Lucius lay where he was, moving only his hands to make sure they didn't get trapped in the stone as it settled in the ground. Then there was another click, and the gate opened. He did not move. He could hear the blood roaring in his head, and the far too quick pounding of his heart. He felt a warm trickle down his back; a bit of careful probing with his fingers told him he had a few minor cuts. His shrouded armor now had some pretty gashes as well…

At length, Lucius finally summoned the strength to get up and step through the gate. The cuts were not serious, but they sure stung for such shallow wounds. He tried not to think about how rusty – or poisonous – the spikes could have been. Lucius quietly pushed open the door at the end of the hallway, quickly dropping into a crouch when he saw movement.

It was Varon.

He was meddling with alchemy – the alembic had some sort of bubbling concoction in it. Lucius snuck in as Varon pounded ingredients in his mortar. He drew his bow. Orane had given him a crash course on the basics of archery. Lucius was no better at the bow than he was with a dagger, but he could probably get an arrow in Varon. If that didn't kill him, he'd just finish the job with his dagger… notching an arrow, Lucius sucked in his breath and took aim. Varon was pacing, clearly waiting for a reaction from his potion – or poison. Lucius' head suddenly started pounding. Doing his best to ignore the mother of headaches, the Imperial assassin checked his aim, and fired.

The arrow harmlessly bypassed Varon and bounced off the table.

_Oops._ It hadn't been so difficult when he was shooting stationary straw targets.

By the time the Dunmer spun round and sent a fireball in his direction, Lucius was already up and running, all intentions of stealth thrown out the window. A green ball shot past him - he recognized the telltale glow of a paralysis spell. If he hit him with that... Lucius hurriedly nocked another arrow, desperately casting his gaze about the chamber, hoping for some sort of trap he could trigger to turn the tables. He noted that half the floor was slick with some sort of liquid that shimmered in the light of his spells. Lucius quickly looked around. There was a lantern on the table with a burning flame.

If the liquid was flammable... he raised his bow, aiming at the lantern.

He fired. At that instant, his limbs turned rigid; he fell, paralyzed. Varon approached, wearing a wicked smile. If he could, Lucius would have started screaming. As it was, he could only stare as he brought his hand - burning with fire - close to his face. The heat burned his eyes - he wanted, more than anything, to _blink_ - but even that luxury was disallowed him.

"So, assassin, come to play, have we?"

_No, I've come to have your head._

Lucius winced internally as Varon drew the flame closer, so close that it singed off his eyebrows. Then he stepped back, and exchanged the fire for lightning. _Now,_ the assassin was starting to panic. He would die here and now... and after he survived that damn spike trap! The panic quickly gave way to anger. No way was he going to the Void now after going through that trap. Varon's hands were hovering above his torso now, and the sparks captured his attention. _Oh, please, no_ - he pressed on his torso, hard, and the agonizing jolt of electricity made Lucius' entire body convulse. His heart fluttered painfully in his chest. Lucius' gaze wandered to the lantern: the arrow had indeed struck it, but not hard enough. It now hovered precariously over the edge of the table. If he stared at it long enough, the lantern seemed like it was sliding, ever so slowly, off the edge.

Another touch, and another jolt of lightning. The paralysis prevented him from even gritting his teeth. He fixed his gaze on the lantern, as if it would save him from the electric shocks that were surely killing him - it _was_ moving, ever so slowly. It was crawling towards the floor. Another jolt. Lucius wanted to die. He willed the lantern to move.

And it did.

The lantern fell in a blink of an eye, shattering as it struck the ground. The liquid instantly burst into flame - startled, Varon scrambled out of the fire's radius. His hold on the paralysis spell slipped; seizing that split second of distraction, Lucius hurriedly leapt to his feet. He ducked behind a pillar as a second fireball slammed into where he'd been standing just seconds ago. He shuddered.

"You're a smart one, assassin. I don't know how you did it, but you won't kill me so easily. Come out, wherever you are!" Varon snarled. Electricity cackled on his hand; Lucius could hear it. His head still hurt, his body screamed at the stress he'd put it under lately, and now his legs had somehow turned into jelly. _Sithis, Dread Father, you probably don't get asked this often, but you've got to help me! Please?_

The first zap made him jump. Varon was advancing. The room was rapidly filling with smoke. Lucius swallowed, unsheathing his dagger. An idea – from Sithis? – abruptly popped into his mind. He could… if he could goad the Dunmer into casting a few more lightning bolts, Lucius could determine whether he was approaching from his left or right, and then…

Another zap. His left.

Lucius waited with bated breath. He started at the third lightning bolt; it came uncomfortably close to his left shoulder. His arm tingled. Varon was approaching him. He could hear the mage's hesitant footsteps. His mind screamed at Varon to hurry, and his hand involuntarily twitched.

Lucius saw the shadow first, and then the mage's body. Twisting to his left, he sprang from behind the pillar, blade pointed at Varon. It sank into his bosom, and the mage's eyes widened. Then – to Lucius' surprise - Varon smiled. Pain suddenly flared in his abdomen; the assassin looked down to see that he'd stabbed him with a spike of ice.

A spike. Of _ice_.

"A stab… for a stab, assassin?" Varon gasped with a thin smile. Blood trickled from his lips even as Lucius staggered away, leaning against the wall. The agony of having muscle and skin pierced mingled with the burning pain of ice. He cupped a hand over his abdomen, unable to stop the trickle of blood. The spike wasn't fatally huge – probably the width of two fingers – but Varon had driven it pretty deep. It didn't help that his body heat was causing it to melt.

And again, the panic returned, tenfold. His thoughts began to fray.

_I need – _he needed – _help – _where_ - get out – _he lurched past the now dead Dunmer, coughing as the smoke thickened, one hand still cupped over his abdomen. His palm was dark red, and he could feel the pleasantly warm blood soaking into his armor. His back was stinging. Lucius staggered to the far end of the room, where there was – _oh, thank Sithis_ – a ladder that clearly led to the outside. He gritted his teeth, hauling himself up the ladder – his abdomen practically contracted with every movement – _I can't do this _– one rung at a time – _hurts_ – the brilliant sunlight made his eyes smart as he finally emerged from the ruins.

Lucius collapsed on the grassy plain. Through a haze of pain he saw someone approaching – someone with fur and a tail. The Khajiit knelt next to him. "Ah… Ahdareeq…?" Lucius wheezed – _damn it_, the spikes were rusty, weren't they? "Thank… Sithis…"

"It is Ahdareeq indeed. Arquen… sent this one to help you. Thought you might need help. But Ahdareeq had different plans. This is good. Ahdareeq will help you, give you peace from the pain. Then, perhaps, this one will be awarded the attention and praise that this one deserves."

"What?" Lucius whispered. Something cold assailed his veins. His heart clenched in fear and… revelation, but his mind could not understand.

Ahdareeq gave him a curious look. "You do not… realize? How disappointing. Then Ahdareeq shall tell you, for it is of no satisfaction if you die without understanding. This one was the first to join the Cheydinhal Sanctuary. And Ahdareeq has proven himself, again, and again… to the family, to Arquen, to our esteemed Listener. But you – you were no more than a fledgling thief, who knew not the blade from the hilt" – his face twisted in fury, eyes burning with hatred – "and yet it was you the Listener chose for that first major contract. The Black Hand wanted this one to take it. But our Listener overrode their decision, and with no explanation. There is something about you, Lucius, which twists the Listener, twists even our Speaker. You brought change… unwelcome change. Ahdareeq will do them a favour… and remove you." He unsheathed his dagger.

_Our hearts – they may stay, trapped in the past, consumed by jealousy, or hatred, or rage._

"I –" Lucius gasped, spluttering as the Khajiit drove a blade into the wound Varon had inflicted on him. Ahdareeq twisted the dagger for good measure. Then he withdrew, raising his hand for one final strike. The world seemed to tip violently. Lucius' gaze narrowed. Something was coming up behind the Khajiit: a shapeless cloud that was swiftly materializing into a rather solid form.

_And that ends them, for what is man, or mer, or beast, without their heart?_

"Farewell, Lucius. Ahdareeq will be sure to convey your regards to the Black Hand." The cloud shaped itself into a ghostly wraith-like being, and struck just before the dagger did. Ahdareeq stumbled, his blade missing Lucius' head by mere inches. He turned, hissing in horror. The wraith lunged at him. He slashed, and stabbed, but the ghost did not seem affected at all. It wrapped its wispy hands around the Khajiit's neck, and _squeezed_.

The sickening sound of bones snapping filled Lucius' ears. Ahdareeq's head lolled uselessly to one side. The ghost dropped the Khajiit and turned to stare at him. _No, please, _Lucius silently pleaded. The ability to speak had long left him, and he could only return its merciless stare.

Then the ghost crumbled.

* * *

Lucius drifted on a sea of relative calm. The pain rose and fell in waves. He shivered. It was cold. His head hurt. The act of breathing hurt. Everything hurt. Ice, and ache. They were all he was aware of.

Until a new sensation came: a touch, feather-light, fingers gently caressing his abdomen, prying his hand away. Hands, not his own, slipped under his head and legs. The ground fell away, and he was pressed against something soft, something _warm_. He buried his face, as much as he could, into the warmth, and sighed. He could smell the light, clear scent of lavender, and he breathed in deeply, letting the fragrance fill his lungs.

And a musical voice, quiet, gentle, as _warm_ as the hands that now held him, drifted into his ear.

"Sleep, my child."

And sleep he did.


	9. Aftermath

**A/N:** Thanks for the review! :D

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Oblivion. Nope.

_A place between sleep and awake.  
End of innocence, unending masquerade,  
That's where I'll wait for you.  
_ - Sleepwalker, Nightwish

**#09: Aftermath**

Lucius was running through an endless hallway.

He could hear the guards yelling behind him, but he was smiling. The heist had succeeded; the guards were of no consequence. In his hands he held the artifact of Nocturnal herself – the Skeleton Key. As familiar faces leapt into the fray behind him, aiding his escape, he dashed through the door and into the light. Armand was grinning from ear to ear.

"Good job, Lucius. The Skeleton Key… I never thought…"

And Lucius watched, in growing horror, as the Doyen melted before him. The wispy form of the ghost-wraith burst from his head. Its thin, bony hands reached out, closing around his neck, and _squeezed_ –

Lucius woke.

He was staring at… nothing. No, that was not right. His eyes adjusted to the gloom, and he gradually became aware that he was staring at a high stone ceiling. He drew a deep breath, feeling constricted by the tight bandages wrapped around his torso and abdomen. His armor was gone; instead, he was wearing a rough spun tunic and trousers. The fabric was rougher than the shrouded armor was, but it was loose.

All was quiet. Lucius stared at the ceiling for a while longer, watching the shadows play about the walls. He slowly raised a hand, touching his neck; there were no marks.

Then footsteps sounded to his right, and he slowly turned.

He could not quite make out the person's shape at first, but as she stepped into the light of the torches, his eyes widened slightly. The Listener approached him, and he opened his mouth to speak – only to freeze when she leaned close to him. His heart pounded, hard, in his chest. He sucked in a weak breath, stifling a squeak, as she filled his vision, her auburn hair falling in crested waves onto his neck. She was _warm_, like she'd been when he was lying outside the ruins, barely conscious. He caught a whiff of fresh lavender. Her breath was hot on his face; he squeezed his eyes shut nervously.

"Your fever broke."

She drew away, and his hand instinctively reached out, grabbing her robe. She paused, her tired eyes searching his, and he hurriedly let go. His face grew hot. She looked away and walked to a nearby table. Lucius slowly released the breath he'd been holding. Several heartbeats passed before he found his voice again.

"Where… where am I?"

"Fort Farragut," the Listener answered without looking. He heard the sound of water sloshing about, and turned towards her. She was shaking the alembic, checking the clear mixture within. He thought of Varen, and shivered.

"How –"

"Four days." She poured the clear fluid into an empty vial and gave it one long, hard look. "Whatever struck you on the back was poisonous. Your body also had difficulty acclimatizing to your magic-inflicted injuries… they are different from a sword wound, after all." The Breton turned, and walked over to him. "You are strong." She set the vial on a chair beside him. "Can you sit up?"

Part of Lucius wanted to say no, so that he could feel her warm body against his when she helped him to sit, and run his fingers through her soft hair, and – by Sithis, what was wrong with him?

She might have been accommodating of him so far, but she was still the Listener of the Dark Brotherhood. The blood on her hands was of many, both innocent people and Dark Brotherhood's own _family_. Lucius was not about to risk his life, head, and soul on the off chance that she might actually entertain his… well, whatever he was thinking.

So he gingerly flexed his wrists, and pushed himself up into a sitting position. It wasn't too hard. His body put up a much weaker protest this time around. Dull aches were nothing he couldn't handle. She watched him patiently, and Lucius couldn't help but wonder if she had any idea of the thoughts that had just crossed his mind. The way her soulful eyes studied him as he moved, it certainly felt like she did. He flushed yet again.

She handed him the vial, unfazed by his pink cheeks. It stank. Lucius studied it warily, unable to meet her piercing gaze. "Drink." The word rolled off her tongue like a summons, and he found himself gulping the vile liquid down only because she ordered it.

The Listener took the empty vial from him, turning away to the table. He heard the splashing of water as she dipped it into a basin and scrubbed. Lucius felt the sudden, irrational urge to keep talking, to keep drawing her attention. A side effect of the poison, no doubt. He refused to consider the alternatives. "H – How did you know where to find me?"

She shrugged. "I have a penchant for appearing at crucial moments."

"How cryptic." The words dropped off his tongue before he could stop himself. She paused, but only briefly, and did not answer him. Lucius cast his eyes about the dimly lit room, looking for something more appropriate to say than an apology. "Listener?"

Her head turned slightly towards him; it was the only acknowledgement he received. "Thank you. For saving me."

She merely said, "Don't eat the apples in the barrel. They're poisoned," and nodded at an innocent barrel, standing just behind a ladder that no doubt led to the outside. Lucius stared at the container for a moment. His abdomen suddenly groaned, and he cupped a hand over it again, wincing slightly. The pain brought with it an image of Ahdareeq in his mind. The ache intensified, and he took slow, shallow breaths.

So focused on the pain was he that he almost missed the Listener's feather-light touch on his hand until she'd pried it away. She pushed him down, gentle yet firm, and removed the bandages. Lucius was pretty sure his rapid heartbeat and burning face was not because of the ache in his abdomen. Nonetheless, the pain felt like someone had stabbed him with a fork, twisted his entrails and was dragging them out.

Then he saw the soft, refreshing blue glow of magic, dancing on her fingertips as she traced the stab wound languidly. Her fingers just barely brushed his skin and his breath hitched; the throbbing pain dulled as she consolidated her magic. The blue light seeped into the wound, caressing the hurt away. But the Khajiit remained in Lucius' mind, and he cringed at the hatred burning in Ahdareeq's eyes.

And then it was over, and she'd replaced his bandages. Lucius simply stared as she returned to the table and her alchemy. He _had_ to ask; he wanted to know if the ghost had been real. "Listener?"

"I can hear your every movement," she answered dryly. He couldn't help noticing the note of exhaustion that had crept into her voice. "You don't have to keep calling me."

He flushed _again_ – she was starting to make him feel like a small child. "Ahdareeq –"

"– Is dead," she replied, her tone surprisingly neutral, "Tenet Five: Never kill a dark brother or sister."

"Then – that ghost was…" His heart sank.

"The Wrath of Sithis, yes."

Silence descended. It was thick, almost unbearable, and Lucius swallowed, as if the small action would alleviate the pressure. He hadn't thought the Wrath of Sithis to be a real being, nor had he expected to be betrayed so by Ahdareeq. He'd held the small hope that it had just been a dream, a result of delirium, perhaps. The Khajiit had tried to kill him… because of what? Hatred? Because he lost his heart to the currents of Time?

_What are we indeed, without our hearts?_

He sat up again with some difficulty, determined not to continue along that train of thought. Lucius noticed, for the first time, that his bag was lying next to him, on a smaller table just beside the bed. He dug around in it for a moment, relieved to find that the Listener had salvaged his armor, and his fingers brushed across a book… a book?

A journal.

Lucius' mind cleared. "Liste – can I ask you something?"

She was silent. Lucius glanced at her, and then ploughed on nervously. "I found a journal, in Applewatch" – her hands suddenly froze – "it was written by one of our brothe –"

In a single, fluid movement, she turned, and he heard the cold sound of a dagger being unsheathed. The word caught in his throat as the blade _flew_ towards him; Lucius tried to move, but his body was too sluggish. Nonetheless his attempt saved him, for the blade nicked only his cheek, bouncing off the wall behind him. He raised his eyes to the table, but she had disappeared – even living among Tamriel's finest assassins, Lucius had never seen anyone move quite so fast. One moment her back was to him, and the next, she had bodily dragged him off the bed and slammed him against the wall, her slender fingers wrapped tightly around his neck. His body screamed in protest, and he managed a strangled gasp.

"How did you find it?" the Listener snarled. Lucius' hands gripped her wrists, but he couldn't pry open her deathly grip. Her eyes burned with icy anger. Panic held him in its hot embrace once again, and he found himself unable to speak past the lump in his throat.

"_Speak_." The command fell like a lash. Her grip loosened ever so slightly.

And Lucius spluttered, "I… a contract… took me to… Applewatch. The… mark… he accidentally opened this… door, and I just… I saw it."

She seemed to falter a little at that, and finally released him. Lucius' legs buckled underneath him; her lean arm swiftly wrapped around his waist. She led him to the bed, which he sank gratefully back into, before speaking. "I'm sorry."

Lucius waited. He was certainly learning her game. She glared at him, but it was not with the fury that she'd had just a few moments ago. Then she picked up the Blade of Woe and sheathed it. "Applewatch… is dear to me. That journal is important. It should not have been found."

Some small part of him knew he was pushing it, but Lucius couldn't help himself. "Why?"

Her jaw seemed to lock for a moment, and the fingers of her free hand curled into a fist. Her other hand gripped the Blade of Woe so tightly her knuckles were white. That hand involuntarily twitched towards him. He swallowed, half-wondering if she would stab him. But she drew a deep breath, and said, "The journal you found is Mathieu Bellamont's journal. L… a Speaker… was framed and killed. Brutally. In Applewatch. Because of… _him_."

"How –"

The Listener's gaze darkened, and he instantly knew the conversation was over. She walked to the table once more, returning to his bedside. In her hands she held a familiar dagger, and a bag of gold. "Your payment," she said, "And this... blade."

Realization dawned as Lucius accepted it. Its hilt was covered with intricate silver carvings, and the guard curved elegantly downwards, joining with the handle. "Ahdareeq's… dagger."

"Consider it a bonus. You may keep it, or give it to someone. Your choice."

"Listener… will you tell me about… about what happened? To Mathieu, to that Speaker?"

Something flickered in her eyes. Lucius blinked. Was it… sorrow? The same, deep sadness he'd seen when their eyes had locked, outside Skingrad, before his first major contract. She was the first to break their eye contact. "I have left Shadowmere outside the fort. He will take you back to the Cheydinhal Sanctuary when you are ready."

Lucius opened his mouth again, but she was gone, leaving only the faint trace of lavender behind.


End file.
